Don't Bank On It
by HugsForTheMercy
Summary: John has been a little off lately, sherlock vows to find out what is troubling his kind doctor.


Don't Bank On It.

"I'm going into town. I need to get a few things sorted out at the bank, you coming?" John cocked his eyebrow at Sherlock.

"Suppose." Standing up the detective stretched his lanky form, working out the cricks in his back.

"Just got to get some accounts sorted." John added as he shrugged into his green coat, Sherlock mirroring his actions.

The queue was moderate. Not overly boring. And the cashiers seemed efficient. Thankfully. There were the usual denim and tracksuit clad punters, workmen, secretaries and to be frank the resident skank. Behind the thick glass sat 5 smartly dressed men and women. Nothing remarkable about any of them, well nothing which merited Sherlock's interest. Three men, one severely overweight, another with a large beaky nose and a 'plain' guy. Two women one slight and ginger, the other blonde with thick set features.

John too noticed the obese man. The doctor wasn't a naturally judgemental person but part of him considered the man's condition at least partly self-inflicted. It was a quick thought one which flitted swiftly from his mind, being replaced with a small glow of sadness for the person's mental health. He must be affected by the way people looked at him – it was only natural. Occupying his thoughts elsewhere John turned to Sherlock and started up a conversation as the two shuffled forward in the queue.

"Greg said he'd be over at half three."

"Why, we don't have a case? What does he want?"

"He's bringing Lexi over, she wants to use your science equipment."

This wasn't strictly true, Lestrade was bringing his ten year old daughter with him but it was only because she was to be collected from her swimming lessons. Never the less John couldn't resist the urge to wind up the detective.

"That insufferable child is NOT using my microscope."

"Sherlock, play nicely."

"She is a horrid child and I will not have her interfering with my possessions John."

"Child being the operative word."

"Regardless."

John gave the conversation up as a lost cause and was shortly called forward by the cashier. As he undertook his business Sherlock stood at the back of the room considering how best to breech the subject of his daughters hideous behaviour with Lestrade. Parents were always tetchy when it came to their off-spring. Perhaps if he just locked his equipment away and ignored the horror she would leave him be. On second thoughts he could lock her away in the cupboard.

His chain of thought was disturbed as he took note of the raucous occurring at the front windows.

John was having a full force argument with the woman standing next to him. A witchy looking, older woman. A very angry, witchy looking older woman.

A bit not good.

Sherlock started forward to intervene. The look on John's face was enough to halt him. Whatever John was arguing about it was apparent that he was in no mood to back down. Sherlock doubted very much that he would be able to stop him so instead ended up as a spectator to the debate unfolding in front of his eyes.

"You have NO right to judge somebody. – No just shut up !"

He pushed his hand forward into the face of the woman

"You have absolutely no right to speak about somebody in that manner. What makes you think you're entitled to voice your opinion Hmm ? He is a fellow human being so why don't you take the time to show him a little respect? More to the point he is here to help you and is providing you with a service."

John turned to look at the overweight cashier, his head was hung low and he was blushing furiously.

"Mate. Don't listen to her."

"I was only suggesting he loose some weigh-"

"Just don't. Get out of my sight, I mean it. "

"Why can you voice your opinion then ?"

Sherlock took an internal gasp as the woman propositioned John.

"I. Am. A . Doctor."

"Hmm. Useless the lot of you. You know my son fought in the war? That there, that's bravery."

"And with all due respect to your son; I was more than likely the one that saved his life when he had been shot through the stomach or stepped on a landmine."

Later that night when they were eating Sherlock approached the subject of John's earlier argument.

"Why did you get so defensive?"

"Dunno."

"Yes you do."

"Yeah you're right. I do. It wasn't that what she said insulted him or anyone else. I just felt really angry."

John continued to shovel the sickly sweet rice into his mouth as Sherlock toyed with his Maryland chicken.

"You weren't angry prior to that."  
"No I wasn't."

"Then what changed?"

The doctor looked up from his food, swallowing harshly as he took his time to answer.

"I just snapped I guess, not sure really."

"John, have you been feeling alright of late?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You've been acting strangely."

There was a sinking in the pit of his stomach. This was getting too close to the truth for his own liking. He tried in vain to put across the question in the most casual voice he could muster, all the while he never stopping eating.

"Have I?"

Sherlock openly laughed.

"Nice try John."  
"What do you mean 'nice try'?"

He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and delved into the plate of spring rolls. As he chewed he watched Sherlock, his brow furrowing in concern.

"I mean you're not coping very well with whatever is getting to you. You haven't stopped eating for days, you flip out at the drop of a hat and you are tenser than usual."

With this the sharp pastry caught in John's throat. He gagged as the razor like shards wound their way through to his gullet. Sherlock handed him the can of Irn Bru off the table and raised his eyebrows as John made a fuss over clearing his airway.


End file.
